All My Fault
by McGeeklover
Summary: Dean already felt guilty after the Shtriga incident in Fort Douglas, but now after this hunt, he thinks back on what did and what could of happened to his brother. Plus seeing his brother attacked AGAIN just made everything worse. Sucky Summary. Tag to Something Wicked. Major Dean guilt and brotherly protection.


**All My Fault**

**Just a little one-shot that popped into my head after watching "Something Wicked." Hope you like it and also I wasn't exactly sure how old Dean and Sam were at the time when Sam was attacked by the Shtriga, but bear with me :) Enjoy!**

**Tag to something Wicked**

It was his fault, all his fault. He's the reason Dad yelled at him, he's the reason Sam got attacked by the Shtriga when he shoulda been watching him, and he's the reason Sam had asthma and almost died. If he hadn't gone to the stupid arcade in the first place, he would've caught the son of a bitch earlier, shooting it and then dad would have been proud instead of pissed. Sam almost died and it was all his fault

~+SPN+~

_Fort Douglas, Wisconsin 1989_

_ He was bored to hell and he couldn't take it anymore. He had to get some air. Dean turned off the TV and heaved himself out of the uncomfortable chair. He glanced into the bedroom to make sure Sam was sleeping before heading out- but not forgetting to lock the door behind him. Ten minutes later found him playing some lame arcade game when the motel manager told him they were closing up._

_ He nodded to the man and left the arcade. He rubbed his hands on his arms, as he went out into the cold air, trying to make himself warm. Slowing making his way inside, he was grateful his dad hadn't come back yet or he'd have his hide for leaving. He shut and locked the door once more and when he turned around his heart stopped. There was a bright light coming from Sam's room. _Shit!_ He stealthily made his way to the door and slowly pushed it open. _Oh, no. Dad was _definitely_ going to have his ass._ It was the Shtriga, the one dad was hunting. The creepy son of a bitch was hovering over his oblivious brother, its gnarled hand touching his chest and its mouth open revealing a bright smoky light. Trying not to make a noise, he reached to his side and grabbed the shotgun that was next to the door. Quickly bringing it up and pointing it at the sucker, he cocked it. Suddenly, the monster looked up at and screeched. _That wasn't a good idea.

_ Then the door to their motel room slammed open and his dad came rushing in, a gun at the ready._

_ "Get out of the way!"_

_ Dean ducked and immediately after, John began firing rounds at the son of a bitch that was touching his son. Even when the thing smashed through the window, he continued to fire, mostly out of anger. When John figured the Shtriga was gone, he rushed over to Sam and began saying his name, desperate to wake him up and see if any damage occurred. Dean got up from the floor as he watched his dad try and wake his brother up, who, by the way, was looking very pale. _What has he done?

_"Dad?" Sam said groggily after John dragged the kid into his arms. "What's going on?"_

_ "Are you okay?" He asked quietly. "You alright?"_

_ Dean placed the gun back on the ground and stepped into the room as he watched Sam nod and John bring Sam to his chest. Then, looking at Dean and covering Sam's ears, he began shooting off questions._

_ "What happened?"_

_ "I-I just went out," Dean replied nervously. _Yep he was gonna get it.

_ "What?"_

_ "Ju-Just for a second. I'm sorry."_

_ "I told you not to leave this room. I told you not to let him out of your sight!" John looked at him with accusation and disappointment before looking away and running a hand through Sam's curly hair._

_ Dean just watched feeling guilty and angry at himself. Dad gave him an order and he disobeyed him. After a few moments, dad told Dean to pack everything up and within ten minutes the Winchester's booked. They drove to Pastor Jim's and John dropped them off while he went back to see if he could catch the monster. But it had disappeared_

_ A couple days later, Sam got sick. Like really sick; he'd had a fever, he was throwing up and he coughed. And every time he puked or coughed, John would glare at Dean; this was the aftereffects of being attacked by a Shritga and it never would have happened if Dean never left. Sam coughed so much that he started coughing up blood and he wouldn't be able to breathe. John instantly brought him to the hospital and when he found out Sam had developed pneumonia then later on, asthma. John, once again, looked at Dean and he could see the blame and anger in his eyes. This was his fault._

_ Now and then, as he got older, his dad's words would still echo in his head_

_**"I told you not to leave this room."**_

_** "I told you not to let him out of your sight!"**_

___And even though he never said it, Dean could just see the other things his dad was saying in his accusing eyes._

_ "How could you let this happen?"_

_ "This is all your fault."_

_ "Sammy is sick because of you."_

_ "Sam has asthma because of you Dean."_

_ "This is your fault."_

_ Your fault, your fault, your fault, your fault, your fault. It's your fault Sam's dead._

_ Wait, Sam didn't die. Dean blinked as he looked to his right and saw his little brother motionless on the grimy motel floor. This never happened, so what was going on? Dean blinked his eyes again and when he opened them, he appeared in a cemetery next to a tombstone. Looking at it, all the blood drained from his body._

**Here lies the body of Samuel Winchester**

**Beloved Son**

**1983-1989**

_No, this couldn't be happening. Sammy can't be dead, please tell me this isn't real. Then, the scene changed to complete darkness. His dad appeared and also… a six year old Sam- who had dirt all over him. He was pale and he looked angry._

_ "This is your fault Dean; your brother is dead, because of you. Why didn't you just do what you were told? None of this would have happened if you just followed my orders!" His father said accusingly._

_ "You killed me Dean," said Sam in a growling voice. "How could my own brother- my own flesh and blood- kill me?"_

_ You killed me, you killed me, you killed me, you killed me, Dean!_

Dean gasped, shooting up in bed. He looked around and realized he was back at the motel he and Sam checked in for the night. He could feel sweat dripping down his forehead so he brought a trembling hand up to his face a scrubbed it wearily. Without hesitation, he cautiously got out of his bed and went across the small space separating his and Sam's mattresses. Crouching down, he observed his sleeping little brother; Sam was splayed out on his back on the too small twin, his limbs tangled in the sheets. His right arm hung of the side of the bed and his feet dangled at the end. His mouth was closed and his face was peaceful; almost too peaceful. Gently, he placed a hand on his brother's chest and stood still for a moment. When he felt Sam's chest rise and fall underneath his hand, he let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. It was just a nightmare, a horrible fucked up nightmare. Sammy was alive and breathing.

"Oh, thank god," Dean whispered as he sat back on his bed. He took a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. He opened them after a few moments and he watched Sam breathe calmly while smoothing out the ruffled curly bangs from his forehead. Unexpectedly, Sam coughed in his sleep, alarming Dean. When Sam, first, had been attacked by the Shtriga, he had gotten sick. He'd gotten so sick that he coughed…a lot. He started coughing up blood and that was what scared John to bringing him to the hospital. He was diagnosed with a mild case of pneumonia. Then one night at Bobby's and dad was…_out_, Dean had been watching T.V with Bobby while Sam was sleeping. That's when he heard it; a harsh rattling cough that was coming from his brother's room. Immediately, Dean jumped up and ran to the room. The sight he saw was petrifying; Sam was curled up in a fetal position, coughing up a storm. His face was red and his lips were blue. In a split second, Sam stopped breathing all together; he had died. Thankfully, Bobby managed to revive him with CPR and then called for an ambulance. Sam was, later, diagnosed with asthma.

It had been his fault Sammy was attacked and their recent hunt had dug up ancient and unwanted memories. Even worse, Sam was attacked earlier that night by the son of a bitch. He remembered getting up from the floor in a daze and seeing the Shtriga straddled on Sam's hips, pinning him to the bed. He remembered when he saw the bastard open his mouth and start to suck the life force out of his little brother. It had made him so angry, more so terrified, to see that happen to Sam again. He wasn't gonna let his brother or his dad down again, so he shot the bastard in the center of the forehead and it went down. He shot it a couple more times, after, for good measure, but mostly because it had scarred his brother and his family. No one was allowed to hurt his brother and no one was allowed to mess with his family. Now he just prayed to god that Sam's asthma wouldn't resurface.

In the whole time he was trapped in his straying thoughts, Dean never noticed that Sam began coming out of his slumber, so he didn't have time to "go back to sleep." He was only broken out of his trance when he heard Sam's soft voice.

"Hmmm, Dean?" Sam said in a sleepy groan.

Dean blinked and looked at his brother in shock, not expecting to be startled. He felt his cheeks burn in embarrassment. _Damn_, _he was caught red handed._ Sam was looking at him in a dazed confusion. The kid was still tired, but, nonetheless, worried about Dean. Of course. Dean managed a weak smile, trying to cover up how concerned and distant he looked.

"You okay?" Sam yawned and sat up against the headboard.

"Yeah, I'm fine, just go back to sleep, Sammy."

Sam frowned. "No, something's bothering you and I want to know what."

Dean huffed. Leave it to Sam to always start the lame ass chick-flick moments.

"Come on Dean, talk to me," Sam said pleaded, sounding more alert.

The older Winchester looked at his brother who, even in the dim darkness, was putting on his puppy dog eyes. _God, he hated when Sam did that._

"It's my fault," Dean mumbled.

"What?"

"It's my fault. I'm to blame for your asthma; if I just woulda listened to dad like a good son, then you never woulda been attacked and we probably wouldn't be here having to waste that stupid son of a bitch. So many kids must of lost their lives, because of my one big screw-up."

Sam looked at his brother sadly. He hated how much Dean would beat himself up for things he couldn't control. He didn't _tell_ the Shtriga to attack Sam or Asher or any of the other kids that got sick. The supernatural was just messed up that way and sometimes people were just unlucky.

"I don't blame you, Dean, so please stop blaming yourself. It's not like you told the thing who to attack. You were just a kid anyways.

"Sam I already told you…don't. That's no excuse. I was fricken ten years old, dad gave me orders, trusting me to take care of you and I failed. I shoulda known better, because I was used to those things; I knew the things that lurked in the dark even when you didn't and I should have kept a better watch on you."

Sam coughed harshly, causing Dean to wince. "Dean, please. I hate it when I see you beat yourself up, it…it makes me feel guilty, too."

"No, Sam, none of it _was _your fault. None of it _is_ your fault. No one blames you; I sure as hell don't."

Sam smiled weakly. "Then why can't you believe that when I tell you the exact same thing? You know you should start listening to your own advice."

Dean sighed, he hated when Sam was right. "Yeah I guess you have a point there. It's just-"

"It's just nothing. Stop thinking about it. You killed the sucker and now all the kids that were sick are better. You should be happy that more kids didn't die; you saved them, Dean."

Dean smiled a little, rubbing the back of his neck.

"So, are you good?" Sam questioned.

"Yeah, Sammy, I'm good…thanks."

"You're welcome…jerk."

Dean grinned. "Bitch. You know I'm gonna kick your ass for getting me into those chick flicky moments, right?"

"Yeah, whatever," Sam chuckled, but it soon broke into a cough.

"Hey, you alright?"

"Y-Yeah, I'm fine."

"Do ya think your asthma is starting up again, cause the bastard almost full on kissed you there."

"Shut up," Sam groaned, throwing a pillow at Dean's head.

Dean chuckled, but quickly got serious. "But, seriously, are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm good, Dean."

"Good, now go back to bed. You look like shit and _I_ need beauty sleep."

"Thanks," Sam said sarcastically as he lay back down. "Night Dean."

"Good night, Sammy."

Dean lay down, staring at the ceiling and listened as his brother's breathing evened out. When he was absolutely sure Sam was asleep, he got up and went to his duffle. He dug around for the first aid kit, grabbed it, and dug around some more in the small white box. He smiled when he saw the object he was looking for. Sam's inhaler.

Going back to his bed, he placed the inhaler on the nightstand. It was just a precautionary measure. He hadn't liked the sound of Sam's cough and you never know what could happen. Dean wanted his brother alive and healthy, so he couldn't take any chances. Once he was positive Sam was alright and sleeping calmly, he got back into his bed and buried himself under the covers. What Sam had said to him really made him realize some things; and even though he still had a little guilt, most of it was lifted off his shoulders by Sam's little lecture. _Only Sammy_. Dean smiled and he closed his eyes, immediately falling into a light slumber. It wasn't _entirely _his fault and he knew that now.

**Well, hoped you like the little brotherly fluff. If you didn't I apologize. Thanks for reading :)**


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